Sometimes the urge to write all but disappears. It's been a punky couple of weeks, and not the good kind of punk. I've been finding it harder and harder to sleep and although I go to bed at a more than reasonable hour, I go to work feeling like I'd rather crawl right back under the covers with the Boy. Little complaints have been dogging me - headaches, backaches, sore legs, listlessness, sore throat, stuffy nose - little things that come & go away with little duration but much frequency. Like I said: a punky couple of weeks. I'm not sure if anything will improve next Saturday, on the first day of my maternity leave. At the very least I'll be able to put my feet up during the day, and that should help a little.

The other little good thing is that Peter is pretending that we never agreed to half-month's-vacancy = half-month's rent refund, so because we're paid up until the end of November, we're staying until the end of November. This means that we (by which I mean I) don't have to rush through packing up everything in a week to get that refund. I intend to leave this Godforsaken apartment as soon as humanly possible, but it'll be nice to get my papers in order before I do so. I suppose I've seen "Fiddler On the Roof" one too many times, and I dread being run off by the Cosaks (represented, in this case, by crazy Greeks.)

My parents are also somewhat relieved that they can take a few extra days to get everything painted & carpeted before the moving train rolls in; although they were ready to turn the entire house upside down just to get us out of here, this is infinitely preferable. The bedroom needs a few more touch-ups with yellow paint, the kitchen counter needs adjustment (and a fridge) and the main room needs both paint & carpet. Then it's all ours, baby: a basement love castle for three busy little bees.

(I'm trying to make myself enthusiastic. Can you tell?)

Much of the last week was eaten up by Hallowe'en preparations (that is, when I wasn't trying to sleep or herding teenagers into ragged formation).

(Sewing project ahead - 'ware of excessive detail!)

My big bee idea needed a lot of help to be realized: first Stacy had to take me to the fabric store to find cheap material and give invaluable advice about the making of the bee (she also cut the yellow pattern pieces when the sight of me crawling around the floor, attempting to manoeuvre around the Belly, proved too much for her to take). Then, after I'd pressed the yellow pieces, cut out the fibre backing & cut n' pressed black stripes, I took the whole caboodle over to my mother. She enlisted the help of a crafty older friend (a lady from the church of course), and the three of us spent Tuesday afternoon sewing it together. My biggest contribution was sewing 3 black stripes onto one side of the pattern - other than that, I pecked away slowly at the tasks before me and laughed at daytime teevee. (The greatest thing about this afternoon was that my mother had to be sweet and accommodating in the house of her friend, so we went through the entire afternoon without cursing or temperament of any kind. Sweet!) The next night my mom finished the sewing, as I was feeling horrible (listless, ill, irregularly beset by Braxton-Hicks contractions & paranoid that I was in early labour). Once again, she was very accommodating & sweet about it, even though she was in her own house. I bought the wings & some gold glitter makeup on Thursday, added a tiara this morning and boom! Queen Bee.

It's a very comfortable costume when you get right down to it. I was able to teach all day with barely a hitch - other than the ordinary hitches, that is. Next year I add a stinger - and make another costume up for my baby bee. Bzzz!

We had our last prenatal class on Thursday. It was all about how the newborn looks and how to breastfeed, material we'll likely forget in the heat of the moment. There were also guest parents, who brought in their 6-week-old and talked about the labour. I had a good time, but I can't help feeling that we're all still locked in our cages of politeness. I'm feeling really isolated right now, both from my pregnant compatriots and my unpregnant friends, so maybe that had something to do with it. The big book of pessimistic 70's feminism I'm reading right now isn't helping - I'm just feeling more & more doomed.

Meh. I've always wanted to have a baby. The problem is that it's not like wanting PVC pants - I can't store the Sprout when s/he's not convenient, like I do my strange attitudes, my club clothes & my rampant misanthropy.

Reaching even further back, last weekend was a giant carnival of exhausting activity. On Saturday we worked on the bee costume with Stacy, visited my brother at the anarchist book fair (the smelliest underground gathering in existence!) and drove off to Barrie to see "Duct & Cover" with Stacy & Stacy's parents (it was a very Stacy day). On Sunday we drove to Collingwood to hang out with the Boy's family for a wedding shower. Scout is full of what my colleague calls infanticipation - I was almost embarrassed by her all-out focus on the Sprout (almost, but not quite. I like it when people love the Sprout as much as I do.) She gave us another bag of Sproutwear that included a puffy white snowsuit & a soft red bunting bag. In fact, thanks largely to Scout & her Sproutmania, we have most of the newborn clothing we'll need for the next few months. Our big problem is diapers - we have yet to purchase the base amount of fancy cloth diapers and it's keeping me up at night. I mean, what if my paranoia isn't misplaced & the Sprout comes tomorrow? We need diapers!

Sorry. Got a bit lost there.

Anyway, my main point was that we did a lot last weekend, but hardly any of it was restful. The house was still filthy and my marking largely untouched when we ran out the door on Monday morning. This wasn't particularly a good thing, and probably contributed to the general malaise of the week. By Wednesday I was so fed up with the sleepiness, the constant work, the frustrations of living in Mount Olympus, the aching of late pregnancy, the irregular (and supposedly painless) Braxton-Hicks contractions and the constant distracting dancing of the Sprout that I was ready to take to my bed forever. I got home late with the completed bee costume in a bag, and collapsed into bed. The Boy came to snuggle, and I wearily drew his attention to the never-ending Sabre Dance in my Belly. His thrilled expression drew some of the pain out of me.

"I'm glad you're loving this baby right now," I thought to myself, "because I can't."

I know that sounds horrible, but I was just fed up. I'm really hoping that the end of work will do wonders for me, but I have to be realistic - I may not feel better for a long time.

Anyway, it's Hallowe'en & I need to get out there, if only for a little while.

Booty Call: Day 238 - Length: 32 cm crown to rump (44 cm or 17 1/4 inches head to toe). Weight: 2500 gms or about 5 lbs. 9 oz.